


He Will Not

by beoxymoronic



Category: Naruto
Genre: Child Soldiers, Dubious Morality, Emotional Hurt No Comfort, Gen, In regards to all his kids, Ninja's being ninja's, Rasa's A+ Parenting, The entire mess that is Suna and Rasa's relationship with Gaara during his murderous child phase, a lot of ands, and some of the authors personal headcanons about Kankurou, but mainly Kankurou and Gaara, discussion of child murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 20:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14860041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beoxymoronic/pseuds/beoxymoronic
Summary: Kankurou grew up fearing his brother, and obeying his father.Sometimes figuring out which monster to hate more than another is simple.





	He Will Not

**Author's Note:**

> I am terrible at Summaries. (And Grammar.)

It happened just three days after Kankurou's twelfth birthday.

The day itself had been limited to a quiet night with Temari, telling stories and then eating the meal and cake he had made. His gift that day was Temari _not_ cooking for him, because, to be frank, Temari's cooking sucked. He made sure to only admit that in his head, as he wanted to avoid sudden fan whacks to the skull. But the day was celebrated that he has survived to be one year older and Gaara had not murdered him in his sleep or otherwise, and then they moved on. It didn't bug him, since he found over done parties annoying. As usual there had been nothing from his father, but after years of nothing on his birthday, Kankurou hadn't expected anything different.

That is, until the message came. Delivered silently shortly before midnight, a simple folded sheet of paper slid under his triple locked, triple trapped door. The message could be considered, at best, just a simple request from father to son. Six words and a familiar signature.

'Please see me in my chambers.'

Kankurou was as wary and suspicious as life with a murderous younger brother and a neglectful father can make you. Sure, one could consider it a simple father-son message, but Kankurou doubted that was the case. His father wasn't one to dwell on family. No, while this was a private message, it was one from Kazekage to Shinobi. The please was a nice touch, almost made him think that maybe he would be seeing his father.

When Kankurou enters his father's chambers shortly after getting the note, that single silent pleading hope is extinguished mercilessly by the presence of familiar white and blue robes. His father wasn't the one who had summoned him. The Kazekage sat in his father's chambers, waiting upon the Shinobi he had summoned.

Nerves singing with hidden tension, Kankurou walked forward. The click of the door being shut behind him made him jolt and turn. His father's gold dust was moving away from where it had shut the heavy door. The sight brought back common and terrible memories of a sand that was a few shades lighter, and a lingering taste to his mouth like grit and blood and death. He shoved the memories down, knowing nightmares were now going to haunt his few hours of sleep, but better that than showing weakness in front of the Kazekage.

Kankurou turned back, catching the faint frown on his father, the Kazekage’s, face. Too late, his weakness was obvious. Idiot. Before he could mentally berate himself further, the man spoke.

"You've grown, Kankurou."

Kankurou could almost believe that it was his father speaking, except for those robes. So it was not his father but the Kazekage commenting. Assessing. Kankurou gave a simple, affected shrug of casual indifference while his heart beat double-time.

"Time does that to kids, jaan."

For a moment, Kankurou catches a weird expression on his father's face. Not one he's ever seen before, not on anyone's face. Curiosity claws at him, making him want to ask about it, but he clamps down ruthlessly on that urge.

The moment stretches, then his father sighs silently.

"So it does."

That odd tone to his voice makes Kankurou uncomfortable. It sounds like how Temari gets when the desert winds stop blowing, and she's wonders when they'll be back.

It is unnatural to hear Temari’s familiar tones in his father’s voice.

"What did you need me for, Kazekage-sama?" Kankurou makes sure to keep his voice polite and even. He will not have his voice betray him when he says Kazekage instead of father. He doesn't need his father.

His father looks at him again, as if the reason he had summoned his son was there, written in his spidery calligraphy on Kankurou's painted face. Kankurou feels sweat bead and roll down the neck, hidden by the bunraku hood.

"Ah yes." Kankurou blinks, wondering if it had just been his imagination, that shine of sorrow on his father's eyes before he spoke. But the moment was too quick to pass, so Kankurou brushes it off as wishful thinking and the flickering candle light of his father’s chambers. Besides, the Kazekage was talking now. He had to listen. Foolish thoughts can wait.

"I have a mission for you. It is off record. Due to this there will be no mission report and this is the only debriefing you will have." Kankurou straightens slightly, intrigued by this highly unusual request. Off record was only reserved for the most politically sensitive missions, the ones against the interests of the daimyō. The kind of mission reserved for the high ranking shinobi of Suna, not a genin like himself. His father pauses for a strangely stilted moment before continuing. "This mission can be refused, with no penalty."

The words are awkward, but sincere. Kankurou is astonished by this unprecedented addition. With Suna being so mission-poor, no one could refuse a mission without gaining a penalty, either in the form of another, more dangerous mission, or a severe fine and punishment duty. All money for the village was needed. Living in a desert would always be harsh, but that's what made the shinobi of the sand tough.

Kankurou decided to wait, to see what this odd mission would be. His father was quiet as well, as if expecting questions or objections. When none were forthcoming he reached over and grabbed a file that had been sitting closed on his desk. The Kazekage held it out. Kankurou took this as permission and walked forward to take the file.

He flipped it open and in that moment all breath left his lungs. He felt dizzy and lightheaded and frozen like wind-carved sandstone as he stood and stared at the familiar face glaring out from the picture. From a distance he heard the Kazekage's voice continue the debriefing, like wind-swept sand over stone.

"The mission is assassination. Before you is a photo of the target.  As you may be aware, many other attempts have been made, but all have failed. However, you present a different avenue of attack, one the target will likely not expect."

Red hair, black bruised circles around dead blue-green eyes that could never sleep. That aching kanji sand-seared into skin, both mocking and pleading at once. Blood of his blood. Monster and Brother.

"The council has finally made this push, for one close to the target to make the attempt."

No. This was wrong, no. Crazy and murderous but still of his blood! Brother, little sibling, child, baby, to be protected! But can't. Have to be protected from. Fear, deeper still budding hate. Can't have that. Cling to brotherhood. No one else in his world but siblings.

Temari. Big sis, important, loving, only one who cares, protector, protected, partner in loneliness, wind dancer, beautiful, dangerous, precious, blood of my blood. Gaara. Monster, little brother, threat, pain, memories of tiny bundle, harmless, harmful! Murderous! Brother! To be protected! To be big brother too. Torn away, lost to darkness. Important, dangerous, lost, blood of my blood.

**Monster.**

_Brother._

Silence fills the room and Kankurou realizes that the Kazekage _father **monster** Kazekage **monstermonstermonster—**_ **Kazekage—** has stopped speaking. Kankurou looks up, face carefully and completely blank. A mask fit for a puppeteer. New and fresh and fragile but there. Carefully, oh so carefully there.

"No."

He didn't realize he spoke, his mouth somehow disconnected from his conscious mind.

The Kazekage is silent, studying Kankurou's face. There is a flicker there, of something softer as the Kazekage takes in his face and his oh so calmly blank expression but Kankurou doesn't notice that anymore.

"I will not take this mission Kazekage-sama."

The Kazekage leans back suddenly, as if he had been slapped, but Kankurou's hands are firmly holding the file so it must just be a trick of the mind.

There is another silence. This one longer. Charged. Deadly. Kankurou looks the Kazekage dead in the eyes and silently dares him to make Kankurou take it anyways.

He does not.

Instead the Kazekage takes the folder back from Kankurou.

"Very well. Perhaps next time you will be strong enough. Dismissed." The words are harsh but the tone is void. Kankurou barely avoids spitting at the Kazekage's feet. Instead he bows, the memories of etiquette lesson giving him perfect control, and perfect knowledge. Kankurou makes the bow shallow, just a hair above the correct depth for subordinate to leader. It's a challenge, a spit in the Kazekage’s face when he dares not actually spit.

"Kazekage-sama." The title is dead and empty on his tongue. He straightens and turns on his heels, walking with clipped precision to the door. For one terrifying minute it doesn't seem to open, the handle stiff and unmoving in his grasp. Then it turns and he exits the room without a backwards glance.

There is cold, cold anger moving in his veins as Kankurou makes his way back to his room. Fury and despair and something dark. Caught up in his anger, he doesn't see the slim shadow waiting in a dark corridor branching from his path.

He does not see the sand.

 

_He does not see the figure hesitate, even as mother tells him to kill._

_Kankurou is coldly angry, coldly dangerous as the figure has never thought of him before. Perhaps it is only the darkness of the night that makes this seem so, but the sand falls unused, and the figure slips down a side passage and out into the cold desert night._

_Mother wants blood, but another’s will do for now._

 

Kankurou notices none of this as he storms back to his rooms. There, with his triple locked, triple trapped door at his back he breathes deeply, eyes gently closed. In and out. In and out. In and his eyes snap open, and his teeth grind together and cold fury roars through him and out into violent action. Chakra wires lash out, even as his hands reach blindly. Makeup pots, delicate tools, his desk, lamp, pens, senbon, shuriken, kunai, wood chisels, glass eyes, metal parts, and un-carved wood blocks are all thrown around the room even as his lips are pulled up into a dark, silent snarl. The only sound is of destruction of his small sanctuary.

All that's left untouched is Karasu, carefully sheltered on his stand in one corner of the room and a single picture frame containing a photo of two small children and a baby.

No one comes running to his room, the thick walls against the daytime heat serving as excellent sound protection.

Kankurou sinks to his knees in the middle of the destruction, hands loose and empty at his side. Dim moonlight falls from the high set window onto his face, illuminating tear tracks as he stares unseeing at the untouched photo.

_He will not._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Talk to me about my Kankurou headcanons, I have so many.


End file.
